Like a Cage
by killing monsters
Summary: Loki saves Sif - who doesn't want to get married - from an arranged marriage to Thor. Darcy decides to help, Jane is confused and Odin is not amused. Thor/Jane, eventual Loki/Darcy.
1. which serves as an exposition

_A/N: Based off of this prompt on norsekink:_

_norsekink . livejournal 9985 . html ? thread=20102145#t20102145_

_Basically: Loki rescues Sif (who doesn't want to get married) from an arranged marriage to Thor._

_And because the author requested it, Loki/Darcy. (Which might take a more prominent place than the prompter may have liked, but, eh, I like this 'ship, and they make awesome co-conspirators :D)_

_Apologies for the quality of the writing/etc., as this is the first thing I've written in a while and my first foray into this wonderful fandom. This will eventually be Thor/Jane and Loki/Darcy, and, yes, it will be happy. I know Loki isn't as evil/insane/unstable/megalomaniacal as he was at the end of the Avengers, but there are several reasons for this that will become clear throughout the course of the fic. This is set a year or so after the Avengers. I hope this is... something like what the prompter over at norsekink had in mind, and if it isn't, and you're reading this, I'm really very sorry! Feel free to hit me with things to get me to revise bits or get it on the right track :)_

_Future chapters probably won't be this long. Probably. I'll try and update fairly regularly (read: weekly or more often), but real life is a bit hectic right now._

_All mistakes/failings are my own, as this is unbeta'd. (Incidentally, I'd love if anyone would be willing to beta this for me :D)_

_Any questions/suggestions/corrections, feel free to message me or review :)_

_Or review anyway, because reviews are love :D_

_(LONG A/N IS LONG. Have a disclaimer, then fic xD)_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine, I just play with them.**_

* * *

Chapter 1: _which serves as an exposition_

* * *

If there was anything Loki had learned throughout the course of his long, long life, it was that Thor, for all he was exceptionally good at hitting things very hard with a hammer, was quite possibly the most stupid, moronic and all-around dimwitted being that had ever existed in _all of the nine realms_.

And, of course, because as Thor was _Thor_ and Loki was _Loki_, when things went hellishly, cataclysmically wrong (which happened surprisingly - or not - often), the oaf would come to him with those three immortal words: _'help me, brother'_.

Even the animosity that had grown and blossomed between them of late could apparently not save the Trickster from playing the part of problem-solver (as Loki had discovered, much to his dismay, the first time Thor barged into his rooms - almost ripping the door from its hinges in the process - and demanded counsel.)

Loki had felt assured, after verbally eviscerating Thor and turning him away with nothing to show for his pains, that there would not be another such visit. He, however, was proven wrong when Thor showed up the next day with _flowers_.

Apparently, he had consulted the Lady Jane on how best to apologise and the woman had - for some reason that Loki could not even begin to fathom - offered Thor that utterly ridiculous piece of advice. It made him wonder what Lady Jane had heard of him, to think that he would be amenable to receiving _flowers_, like a _woman_; Loki knew Thor's opinion of his masculinity (which was that Loki had none), but it did make him question, however briefly, exactly what the _oaf_ had told the woman.

Then again, perhaps Lady Jane possessed a rare sense of humour and this was her idea of a joke; if so, he could commend her on the execution, if not the lack of sense she'd displayed in insulting _the God of Mischief_.

Though, seeing Thor's _crushed_ expression as the wretched bouquet of daisies went up in a blaze of bright green fire had been the highlight of Loki's return thus far. (The word 'rehabilitation' had been mentioned several times in passing, and Loki still couldn't help the genuinely amused smile he sported every time he heard it.)

That had been several weeks ago, regarding a different problem (that seemed to have, miraculously, and to the benefit of Loki's already frayed sanity, solved itself); however, since that moment, Loki has seen Thor on no less than twelve occasions in varying degrees of distress. Loki had taken no small amount of pleasure in turning him down at every turn with harsh words and condescending laughter; they may no longer be enemies, but it would do Thor good to remember that such a thing did not make them _friends_.

On this occasion, however, Loki found himself stunned into silence.

He stood by the hearth, blinking down at his brother owlishly, convinced that this was some sort of prank.

Thor was sat in one of his chairs, head cradled in his hands, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer into his palms.

Loki waited for the punchline.

It didn't come.

"Thor, you mean to say that you _told Odin_ of your intentions to," Loki had to pause here, because, for some reason, he still found the level of idiocy involved somewhat beyond his comprehension, "_marry a mortal_."

Thor nodded, eyes downcast, and _was he crying?_ "He was talking of marriage to one of the maidens at court, Loki. What was I to do?"

Loki was caught between embarrassment and fury.

"You do not announce in front of all and sundry that you plan to take up with a mortal woman!" Thor looked up at Loki then, mouth agape in shock and protest, but Loki cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand; he had neither the time nor the inclination to listen to any more of this drivel. "No, Thor. I refuse to sort this mess out for you. I refuse to be your last resort, _yet again_! I refuse to stand here and listen to you bemoan a situation that _you yourself_ instigated."

He turned, thinking it the end of the conversation, but found himself being manhandled and spun around like a puppet (or a _maiden_, his mind added disdainfully) to face his attacker.

Apparently, Thor was not finished. (Or dissuaded by the look of absolute fury and outrage on Loki's face.)

"Brother," he said, eyes still moist. "I have wronged you. I- I have tried to right these wrongs-"

"_Unhand me_, you-"

"But do not force Sif and Lady Jane to pay the price for my foolishness."

Loki frowned, and let the indignity of being interrupted and molested in such a manner slide (for the moment). His normally agile mind turned the non-sequitur over sluggishly, examining the implications and possible meanings individually, as each became apparent. The reference to Lady Jane was self explanatory, but Sif... Surely, the All Father would not...? She was a warrior, not a housewife. What could Odin possibly hope to gain by making Sif Thor's wi- ...? Oh. _Oh._ It was so painfully _obvious_ that Loki almost kicked himself for not noticing it before; perhaps stupidity was contagious?

Taking a fortifying breath, Loki settled for: "I was not aware that Odin was in favour of such a union."

"Neither was I, until today," Thor said, his grip loosening, allowing Loki to step back and out of his reach.

What a wretched situation, he thought, retreating to stand by the corner of his bed.

Loki hated Thor, with a venomous passion that at times overwhelmed him and, at times, was little but the hollowness at the pit of his stomach; it hurt, and ached, because it was _poison_. It was insidious, and to believe he could be purged of such a toxin so easily, nay, if _at all_, was so very like Thor that- That hurt Loki, too. But Sif-

Sif was different. In every sense of the word.

He may never have liked the woman - since childhood, had found her idolisation of Thor distasteful - but he _respected_ her; a female warrior, who could defeat most of her male comrades on the field of battle - that alone made her novel, and interesting.

Sif was not made for a life of softness and comfort, but the hardened world of toil and battle; she could not be content unless her blade tasted blood and her body ached from the thrill of victory.

"She will make a good queen, Thor," Loki lied.

It took Thor a moment to process this. He was getting faster. "Then... you cannot help?"

Loki saw victory in the slope of his shoulders, the tense line of his jaw. He couldn't help but laugh. "No," he said after he had recovered, expression hardening. "I _will not_ help."

"I... I understand," Thor nodded, making his way out into the hall. "Thank you for... for everything, Loki."

He remained silent as Thor left, closing the door gently behind the blond's retreating back.

One would think that, by now, Thor would have been able to tell when Loki was lying. 'Will not' _indeed_.

* * *

Bored and feeling claustrophobic, Loki took to wandering the palace grounds cloaked in a shroud of invisibility. It afforded him some measure of privacy from prying eyes; for all that he was slowly growing accustomed to Asgard once more, he could feel the stares that followed him, heavy with disapproval - with _hate_. He had dealt with it before, in another life, only now it was magnified; those that had always spoke ill of him were vindicated, and the rumours that had always been there, following him around like ghastly spectres, loomed once again. Only, now, people were receptive to them, believed the worst of Loki. After all, he had let the Frost Giants into Asgard; had waged war on an innocent realm; had tried to kill the beloved and noble _Thor_! Those were the truths; how much of a stretch was it to believe that Loki had given birth to Sleipnir, mothering and siring all manner of monsters? That he was more than just _argr_, but frequently took men into bed under the guise of being a woman? That he had killed Baldr? Cut Sif's hair?

Those were not the worst, nor the most petty, but they offended him the most. That there was a shred of truth contained in each mattered not. So what if he could transform into a woman, not that he had ever lain with a man; had not cut Sif's hair, but found replacement locks; had, perhaps, a slight hand in the fool Baldr's death, however ignorant he'd been of it at the time? It was the way these things were spoken of, like grave misdeeds, or part of Loki's grand scheme of mischief that he was inflicting upon innocent Asgardians.

There had, perhaps, always been an element of it (for who would not be suspicious of a male mage with pale skin and jet black hair?); but Loki had always been something of a warning to others, a sort of 'how not to behave' - the antithesis of a good Asgardian. It had been both a source of pride and of pain as he tried to reconcile the dark, smug satisfaction (the _superiority_) of being truly unique with the childlike, pathetic need to fit in. To be his brother. To be- to be _accepted_, perhaps even _liked_.

To not be alone.

Looking up at the stars, half hidden in the bright blue of the sky, Loki released a slow and steady sigh. He was stronger for it - the suffering - but hindsight was a privilege afforded only by the passage of time. The aftermath was only such because the dust had settled, and what was left was... Rubble. Building blocks that, after a time, could be reassembled; could perhaps begin to resemble what there was before life and experience and hate tore it all to pieces.

He walked past one of the fountains, skimming the surface of the water with the tips of his fingers.

Two young chambermaids were talking in animated tones on a nearby bench, but Loki paid them little mind. He continued on, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

"Oh, I _know_!" The blonde one squealed, so loudly that Loki gave an involuntary flinch. He turned, a hex on the tip of his tongue and his fingers sparking with magic. "The Lady Sif will make a terrible wife!"

Ah, so it had become palace gossip already; at least some things remained constant, and the loose lips of the palace staff was one of them.

Almost against his will, Loki found himself letting the magic at his fingertips dissipate. He regarded the two women silently.

"Of course she will," this one was a redhead, and, if anything, was even more enthusiastic and high-pitched than her insufferable friend. "She goes out and- and _fights_! Like a man! And I know everyone thinks that is some sort of noble or good thing," her friend snorted, and Loki wished that he had hexed her out of principle, "but it is not a woman or a wife's place to be out doing those- those _things_."

Loki remembered a conversation from years ago, in these very same gardens, when he and Sif were both young and full of the fear and naivety of youth. He remembered asking her if she'd ever marry, because even if he'd never thought of her that way, she was beautiful and _good_ in equal measure. He remembered seeing her genuinely afraid for the first time in his life.

His stomach turned.

"It isn't right," the blonde muttered. This statement caused both to nod somberly, as if the woman had just declared a sacred truth. "She has done some great things, and I like a woman who knows how to care for herself, but-"

"But it still isn't right," her friend finished for her. She took the other maid's hand between her own and squeezed. "The All Father is a wise man, so... So if he thinks Sif will make a good wife, and that she is, ah, good enough for Prince Thor... We have to trust him. The All Father is our King."

"He must be certain, after all: I have heard that they are already planning the wedding."

_'So soon?'_ Loki thought, surprised. He frowned, slipping into the shadows with practiced ease. The Library—Yes. He had some tomes to consult. Evidently, time was not on his side.

* * *

The library was a large, rectangular room situated towards the rear of the palace, with a high, vaulted ceiling. It was perpetually bathed in a soft, amber glow from the light fixtures and the small hearth that sat at the heart of it. The wall on which the entryway was located was bare, save the usual gold adornments that were something of a motif in the palace - sconces and elegant geometric patterns carved into the polished surface - while a window spanned the far wall. Floor to ceiling shelves flanked the assorted wing-backed, padded armchairs and the tables littered with candles, quills and parchment.

Apart from his private rooms, the library had always been Loki's favourite place; his hideaway when Thor, Sif and the Idiots Three were being particularly infantile, or when a prank had gone wrong and he'd needed to make a hasty retreat. It was a place of refuge, for those times Loki had simply needed to _get away_.

The library meant books, hefty tomes and grimoires of all description; it meant _knowledge_.

The library meant sanctuary.

As few beside himself and the other mages of the court frequented this oft neglected room, when Loki strode through the open doorway, completely unselfconscious in this, his kingdom of parchment and ink, the one thing he most certainly had not anticipated was _company_.

Especially not company that was wearing full battle regalia. And was still carrying a spear.

If Loki's step faltered and his eyes widened like a deer that was about to become supper, well, there was only one person here to witness such a slip.

"Lady Sif," he nodded politely, regaining his composure swiftly. He walked past her to the bookshelves and made a show of investigating the titles written on the spines. He was still not fully recovered from his earlier ordeal with Thor, and while he did not expect Sif to have a similar teary breakdown... Well, she was in the library. Stranger things had _already_ happened.

"Loki," she said by way of greeting, and he could hear the hostility dripping from his name like water from a leaking faucet.

Ah, good, so she hadn't forgiven him. Perfect.

Loki pulled a thin volume from the shelf and sat down at a chair that was _just_ far enough away from Sif to make a statement without actively discouraging all attempts at conversation.

He skimmed the words on the pages before him quickly, cataloguing the salient information and mentally making notes of the other books he would have to read (in some cases, re-read); it seemed simple enough, in principle, but he had precious little time on his hands, and -

The sound of a book being slammed shut with rather more force than was necessary pulled him out of his reverie. Sif was staring at the leather bindings with an intensity bordering on ferocity and, for the sake of the books (he was the consummate bibliophile, and he would be damned if so much as a single page were torn in his presence), decided to intervene. Her abortive attempts to open her mouth and address him herself were amusing, because it must have galled her to have to try and ask _Loki_ for help, but, again, _the books_.

He watched her discreetly out of the corner of his eye, fighting the urge to smirk.

Opening her mouth - again - as if to speak, Sif chanced a look at him and ducked her head. She seemed to be chewing over the words without saying them (which made her look an awful lot like a fish), but then she evidently thought better of it, and resumed trying to set fire to the book in front of her with nothing but the sheer force of her glare.

Closing his own tome, gently so as not to damage the whisper-thin pages, Loki sighed. He knew that he would regret this with the certainty that came from having been verbally (and physically) assaulted by the woman in front of him on innumerable occasions. "Is there any way I may be of service, Lady Sif?"

She actually _flinched_. Loki didn't bother hiding his smirk this time. "I assume that Thor told you of our impending," she scowled, "_nuptials_."

"Ah, yes, he did mention it," he placed the book down on the arm of the chair. "So you have taken it upon yourself to research the Marriage Laws?" She didn't reply, so Loki pressed on. "Have you found anything of merit?"

"I- No."

"Hm. Tricky thing, arranged marriage," he steeped his hands in front of his face, as if deep in thought. "I cannot imagine it makes for interesting reading."

That earned him a snort. Sif looked up again, but her face looked drawn - tense; whether from the distaste of having to converse with him or her current predicament, Loki was unsure. He was willing to bet it was a bit of both. "I have never been a scholar," she confessed; it was rather true, after all. "And these laws, they - I mean to say-"

"They make no sense."

"Yes."

Loki took a pity on her. "May I make a suggestion?" She nodded hesitantly. He gestured towards a small section of blue-bound leather books on the far side of the room, near the window. "Those should make things clearer to you, if this is a path you wish to pursue further."

"Thank you," she smiled wanly.

Loki returned the smile, and reached for his book again, ready to resume his own (an infinitely more likely to succeed) research.

"Loki?" He looked up, frowning. "Have you... Spoken to the All Father about this?"

"No. I do not believe he would be very receptive to any pleas from my corner, given recent events."

Sif considered this, her mouth a thin, unhappy line. "I do not blame him. Your silver tongue is more trouble than it is worth," she paused. "Though it would have been useful in this situation."

"When Odin sets his mind to something, there's very little that can dissuade him. Including my 'silver tongue', I'm afraid."

"You could-" Sif took a deep breath and then let loose a torrent of what Loki could only describe as 'babble', "you know this library better than anyone, Loki. You are- _cunning_." It sounded more like an insult than praise, and, he supposed it _was_. "If anyone can find a way out of this situation, it is _you_. These books, I- I am not a scholar. I have said this before and, while I do not for a second believe the lie that you have 'changed'... Perhaps you could find it in that cold heart of yours to help your brother and I?"

"By aiding you in your research of obscure marital law?"

"If that is what will free me from this, then yes."

Loki turned his gaze skyward, brows knitted together. He didn't speak for a moment, savouring the fact that _Sif_ was asking _him_ for help. With Thor, well, it was always rather flattering (if infuriating, predictable and tedious), but they had been brothers - and Thor had a habit of getting himself into situations that he simply wasn't intelligent enough to outmaneuver. But Sif? This was a wonderfully new experience.

"Thor came to me earlier today and asked me for my help," he smirked. "And I am afraid that you shall receive the same answer as him: _no_."

"And why not?"

"Why should I?" he retorted.

Growling, she rose from the chair.

_Ah_.

He'd rather forgotten that she still had her spear on her.

Oh dear.

* * *

Loki put a hand to his face gingerly and grimaced when his fingers came away coated in blood. _Delightful_.

Being proven right (he did, indeed, regret opening his troublesome mouth) was invariably satisfying, though Loki had to admit that having his nose broken by an angry battle-maiden was something of an... _unforeseen complication_. Though, on the bright side, he had managed to avoid being impaled on her spear. Which was a pleasant, if rather small, consolation.

Perched at the end of his large bed, legs drawn up to his chest, Loki allowed himself to get lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The swelling would take a day to go down, if he was lucky (which he seldom was); he would have risked healing it himself, had he any proficiency at minor healing magics beyond the mending of broken bones and wounds. If he could convince a healer to tend to the injury- No. Then the altercation would be the subject of palace gossip, and he the butt of yet more jokes. _'Beaten by a woman!'_ they would laugh (no matter that the woman was Sif and had probably beaten _them_ at some point). The thought of adding more logs to that particular fire left an acrid taste in his mouth.

Prodding the bridge of his nose lightly, he winced and scowled.

So, Loki had a day, two at most, in which he would have to remain out of sight with spells, or sequestered in his rooms, or -

_Or_, he could take a long overdue trip to Midguard.

"Oh," the Trickster chuckled to himself as he drew back into the shadows, vanishing from both Asgard and Heimdall's gaze. If Odin had _any_ idea of what the younger prince were planning... "Oh, this will be such _fun_."

* * *

Darcy loved Jane, because Jane was sweet and kind and, okay, she's like one of the most boring people Darcy's _ever met, ever_, but that's just another part of what Darcy loved about her: while Darcy was off being Darcy and doing stupid, insane Darcy things like accidentally setting fire to her mattress with her hair straighteners, Jane would have a room and a place for Darcy to stay and a shoulder to cry on. Because that was Jane. She was what Darcy needed: a constant.

And in return, Darcy would make Jane watch silly movies and laugh about life, boys and celebrity gossip. She would take away Jane's laptop and make her sleep, make sure she ate more than _just_ pop-tarts and instant ramen and be what Jane needed, which was a friend.

When shit went down with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, Darcy made sure to stick by her best friend's side, even if she couldn't promise her that everything would be okay. Jane was grateful anyway.

S.H.I.E.L.D. offered her a job as Jane's permanent assistant not long after, and she suspected that it had less to do with her own innate awesomeness being recognised and more to do with Jane's considerable sway with those scary Men in Black types. Even if the mild-mannered astrophysicist hadn't been engaged to the God of Thunder, she was the woman who could quite possibly recreate the fricken' _Bifrost_. Forget getting married to a myth: in Darcy's opinion, Jane Foster was well on her way to _becoming one_. And she deserved it - if only for having to put up with said God of Thunder, who was damn pretty, but _Jesus_ did he take a lot of work. (And not the fun, sexy kind, either.)

Take, for instance, now: Thor had proposed to Jane, which was so sickeningly perfect and romantic that Darcy may have actually cried herself to sleep (twice), and everything seemed to have been going really, really great for them. Jane was so happy she was _glowing_. Thor composed (bad) epic love poetry. Darcy had been forced to rent a hotel room to get away from her and Jane's shared apartment, because no matter how much she loved her friend, she was too poor to pay for the _years_ of therapy she'd need after seeing her and Thor go at it like drunk college students.

So: Thor had proposed, Jane was happy, and Darcy was living across town while they rutted it out. All was good.

And then Thor had gone back up to Asgard to do whatever it was they actually did in a place that was apparently sparkly and made of rainbows and gold (apparently they hit each other with nasty sounding weapons, ate a lot of food and drank a lot of booze - so, in Darcy's mind, it was like an _Eternal Frat Party of Awesome_). He and Jane had shared a teary farewell and a lot of saliva (ew) and then...

Nothing.

They hadn't heard from Thor in _weeks_.

The last time they hadn't heard from Thor in this long was when his crazy-ass little brother had decided to blow up an entire _realm_, forcing Thor to destroy the Bifrost and his only way back to Jane. Which Darcy thought was super romantic in a tragic sort of way, but whatever. Jane was going into a mental meltdown trying to figure out a way to get to Asgard, and S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers were collectively trying to figure out exactly how much of this was going to be Loki's Fault. ('Reformed' her ass; when someone tries to be the Big Bad and conquer an entire planet, especially _her_ planet, Darcy was gonna need more reassurance than 'oh yea, he's good now, by the way'. Well. Apparently Daddy Odin had done something fancy with magic or whatever, but she didn't understand the details, and Darcy wasn't sure how much she could trust _him_, either, considering he'd mortal'd one son and let the other fall off the edge of the universe. Seriously, who does that?)

As Jane's best friend slash assistant slash link to the world outside of science and Thor, Darcy had taken it upon herself to try and cheer her boss up and, y'know, stop her accidentally ripping spacetime apart to get her fiance back. But... nothing was working. All Jane wanted to do was work, and if she wasn't working she would be in her room sleeping, maybe eating if Darcy was lucky, or staring into space like some creepily pretty zombie.

To be honest, it kinda bumming Darcy out.

"Jane," she whined. "Look, just come out of there and- and watch a movie with me, or something!" Darcy slumped against her friend's bedroom door and helped herself to another generous spoonful of chocolate ice cream. She'd planned this whole Girls' Night thing down to the popcorn, but it would be completely pointless if it was just Darcy, all on her own, sitting there crying over Johnny Depp's stupid, beautiful face. "C'mon! I got _ice cream_! It's chocolate," Darcy heard a sniffle from inside, and her heart broke a little. "Oh, Jane..." Why did she always lock her door? It wasn't like Darcy hadn't seen her in tears before.

Sighing, she made her way back down the hall to their living room and slumped down on the comfy cream sofa. The original Pirates of the Caribbean movie was paused on the title screen, but Darcy just didn't have the heart to sit there and watch it on her own, surrounded by blankets and snacks while Jane was in her room, alone, missing the man she loved.

What a majorly sucky way to spend a Saturday night.

If Jane didn't get her Godly blond fiance back _soon_, or at least, like, smile, Darcy was gonna go to Asgard _herself_ and bitchslap Thor. Or Loki. Or Odin. Or whoever the fuck it was that was making her best friend cry.

Darcy sighed again, wrapping one of the soft wool blankets around her shoulders. She picked up the remote from where she'd thrown it haphazardly on the coffee table earlier and set the movie to play. Watching good looking men and explosions on the TV sounded pretty good right about now.

* * *

Two tubs of ice cream, half a bowl of popcorn and three movies later and Darcy had fallen into a peaceful, pirate-filled, drooling pile of slumber on the sofa.

That is, until a door slammed and Darcy proceeded to fall face-first onto the floor, uneaten popcorn, blankets and all.

"Mrphmphmm," she grunted intelligently.

Jane's voice invaded her still-sleepy mind. "I'm sorry Darce," she didn't sound particularly sorry, and if Darcy were more awake and less worried about the state of her face (ow, her brain supplied, helpfully), she'd be tempted to ask why Jane was up at this hour making loud noises and generally being a very _mean person_. "I've had an idea, and I need to get down to the lab. I think- I think I might have it! I think I can get to Asgard and bring Thor back!"

Oh, Thor. Now Darcy felt like the most horrible friend and human being ever for forgetting about her best friend's pain, if only for a moment.

"Are... Are you okay there, Darcy?"

"M'fine," she said, and managed to free a hand from their blankety prison to give Jane a half-hearted thumbs up. "See? Go do your science thingy. Don't worry about little old me."

"Okay," wow, was Jane actually laughing? She must be serious about that breakthrough. Though going to Asgard was probably a bad idea. But, hey. If Jane was happy, then Darcy was less depressed, and that was awesome. "Go to bed, Darce. And try not to hurt yourself," the astrophysicist let herself out of the front door, leaving Darcy... well. On the floor. Like a boss.

Feeling marginally less ridiculous now that she was on her own, Darcy extricated herself slowly and painfully (literally; gravity was a bitch) from her bedding. Likelihood of Jane not remembering this and failing to make some incredibly cute, inoffensive joke? Zero. But she liked it when Jane tried to get snarky with her. It was cute.

There was a mirror in the hall, and Darcy padded over to it to inspect the damage. It felt like she had a split lip, at best, and her nose felt tender, but not broken; hopefully she wouldn't look like she'd been in a fight with a baseball bat and lost, because that was the absolute last thing she needed right now. Gods giving you grief? Check. Crappy job that requires you to live in the middle of the desert? Double check. Woefully single with no chance of meeting a guy who wasn't a) a superhero, b) a secret agent or, c) some shmuck from a bar who tried to feel her up _before they'd even been on one date_? Check_ times infinity_.

Ugh. Darcy was really starting to hate men, Gods or not. She was turning into her _mother_.

What she saw in the mirror didn't exactly fill Darcy with confidence that she'd ever, y'know, have sex again in this lifetime. Her hair was a mess, her lower lip already swollen and bleeding a little and her nose looking puffy (it would probably bruise, oh god). Plus she was probably putting on weight; her thighs felt flabby, her stomach too-big and her ass looked like it could cause a _total eclipse of the sun_. Then again, she always felt like that after she'd eaten her own body-weight in ice cream.

She turned so that she was facing the mirror side on, and lifted up the thin black material of her tank top until it was sitting under her breasts. Eh, she should have worn a bra; her boobs would've looked better and then maybe she wouldn't be drowning in emo feels and contemplating _never eating again, ever_.

Frowning, she poked her exposed stomach. With her face all mashed up and feeling fat and cranky and silly, she felt like... Like... Like she needed more ice cream.

"I'll never have sex again," Darcy lamented. "And Thor will come back, and he and Jane will be getting busy all the time and then marry and I'll have to move out and I will be _forever alone_."

Her reflection pouted back at her, and Darcy refused to feel ridiculous about talking to an inanimate object. She was alone (_forever!_ her brain - and lady-parts - cried) in her apartment, and it wasn't like there was anyone here to hear her.

"You are... _not_ Jane Foster," said a very distinctly male voice from the vicinity of her living room.

Oh, of course.

"Fuck my life," Darcy groaned.

And then promptly passed out in the hall.


	2. in which there is an unholy alliance

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews :) This chapter is a fair bit shorter than the previous (by about half), but I'll probably end up splitting the first chapter into two (perhaps even three) in the final edit. Smaller chapters = faster updates :D**

**No beta, mistakes are my own, blah blah~ If you see any mistakes/typos, please tell me! Also if you have any questions/criticisms, hit me up ^^**

**Reviews are love :3 **

* * *

Chapter Two: _in which there is an unholy alliance_

* * *

Loki peered down at the mortal, brow creased in confusion. Whether she had been rendered unconscious by the shock of recognising him or the shame of being caught in such a compromising situation - and attire - was unclear. Women were wont to be melodramatic (mortal women in particular) and so he had anticipated and made allowances for some degree of... _surprise_? Fear? Anger? Though, he had also planned on catching Lady Jane before she invariably travelled to her laboratory to test out her sudden, out of the blue, ingenious (if he did say so himself) idea. That he had not realised how quickly she would react to the slightest glimmer of hope was a rather glaring oversight on his part.

Evidently, she was not a woman to wait around. That could prove useful.

With clinical detachment, he examined the injuries on her face. They appeared to be fresh. From what he knew of Lady Jane's 'best friend', she was, as Thor described her, _'a strange, often confusing mortal, though harmless'_; she performed a function similar to that of a servant, though refused to be labeled as such. Had she been placed in recent danger in her capacity as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, or had an altercation with a civilian?

He thought about the speed with which Jane had fled their shared dwelling, and dismissed that train of thought out of hand; he would have sensed the danger. Wicked intent had a particularly potent signature, black and cloying, acrid like smoke.

Growing tired of staring at the girl, feeling he had gleaned all he could while she remained unconscious, Loki made a flicking gesture with his fingers-

And dumped half a gallon of conjured ice-cold water on her head.

"JESUS _CHRIST_!"

Loki couldn't help it: he laughed.

A pair of _very_ awake blue eyes glared at him from under a mess of soaking wet brown hair. Her expression faltered for a second, perhaps in fear, and Loki's grin widened. "Y-_You_," she snarled, small hands balling into fists at her sides. "_You_!_ You're _the reason Thor is gone and Jane is depressed and won't eat and now you're here looking for Jane to, what? Rub her face in it? You _bastard_!"

He cocked his head to the side. Thor had been correct (and, oh, wasn't that _novel_): this girl was unintelligible.

"Guess what, you giant douchewaffle? We're going to get Thor back and there's nothing you can do about it!" she started to right herself, bare feet sliding across the wet floorboards as she struggled to find purchase. She pointed an accusing finger at him and swayed slightly. "And then he's going to help the Avengers put you back in your box. Or whatever it was you crawled out of."

"I do believe you are suffering from a concussion."

Lady Darcy took a step forward, and it would have been threatening were she not soaking wet, bruised, and close to a foot shorter than him. And _mortal_. "I am not concussed! You just _attacked me_!"

"You fainted," Loki pointed out, politely. "I merely chose the most expedient option of rousing you."

"I _'fainted'_ because I don't expect to have Gods turning up in my apartment, uninvited, in the _middle of the fucking night_! What sort of perverted creeper are you, anyway? This is Earth, buddy. We have laws against this shit," daringly, she poked him in the chest with her index finger, apparently drunk on her anger, or severely concussed. (Or genuinely insane.) "Get out of my way," Lady Darcy tried to shove past him, only to be sent stumbling back after colliding with his shoulder. "Ouch. Are you made of like, marble or something? Jeez. Now: _get out of my way_."

Loki, face the picture of confusion, found himself complying.

The mortal padded past him and into the living room, picking up a large piece of cloth from a metal fixture on the wall and beginning to violently dry herself off with it (really, there were no other words to describe the aggression with which she approached the task).

He caught the tail end of one of her mutterings and leaned against the wall, perplexed. "You are Lady Darcy, are you not?"

"I thought you were supposed to be, like, the _smart_ one," she said, tossing the cloth onto the floor. Loki scowled at her, but she continued, "So, what? You gonna kill me now or just stare at me?"

"I have no plans to kill you," he said prosaically, despite the voice in his head saying, _'but I would very much like to'_. Given the terms of his agreement with the All Father (and those infuriating, _inconvenient_ bindings placed upon his magic), slaying a mortal woman because she annoyed him _probably_ wouldn't go down very well. No matter how satisfying it would be.

"Oh, gee, thanks, Mister God of Mischief and _Lies_," Lady Darcy picked a small black object off of a shelf and palmed it, giving him a calculating glare. Perhaps she thought it intimidating? "So... I'm just supposed to believe that you're not gonna kill me. Or Jane."

"That would be helpful, yes."

She huffed. "Sorry, but no dice," expression hard, she raised the hand holding the strange object, compressing a button on the side and - "Oh. _Shit_."

Loki pulled the wires and detached the buzzing, stinging _thing_ from his chest plate. Eyebrow raised, he dropped it to the ground, utterly unimpressed by that particular piece of Midgardian technology. "How eloquent," he deadpanned.

"...There goes my Plan A," Lady Darcy said in a weak voice. She looked like a young colt ready to bolt.

"And Plan B?" by the look on her face, she hadn't thought that far ahead. Ridiculous chit. Through the frustration and the anger, Loki had to admit that he was... entertained. He had to remind himself that he had come here with a purpose: time spent watching this girl cower in fear was time wasted (albeit _well_ wasted; the way her still-wet clothes clung to her rather... _generous curves_ was delightful). "Come now, don't look so frightened," the Trickster walked towards her slowly, arms raised with palms facing outward in a show of peaceful intent. "I came here for information. Very little mischief involved, I assure you."

Lady Darcy took a step back, hitting the wall with a thud. "Nice one, God of _Lies,_" she spat.

Rolling his eyes, Loki cast a simple drying charm on the girl, ridding himself of that particular _distraction_. She squeaked, arms coming up to cover herself automatically. "Do stop using that epithet against me. It's _dull,_" nodding towards her now dry frame, he smirked. "And it's customary to give thanks when one receives a favour, mortal."

"You're the reason I was wet in the first place, dude."

"You _fainted,_" he said scathingly.

Lady Darcy seemed to rally, and Loki wondered if it was the comfort she took from him playing to the role of villain. "So. Information. You're in the wrong place if you're looking for, like, dirt on S.H.I.E.L.D.. Seriously. I just make the coffee. The only thing you'll get out of torturing me is how to make a rocking cappuccino."

"No, S.H.I.E.L.D. and the brewing of Midgardian beverages are of no particular interest to me. This is regarding a far more... personal matter. One that I believe you will take an interest in," tone of voice deliberately bland, he began: "due to recent circumstance, Thor is unable to leave Asgard. The All Father has forbidden it. I have come to bring news of this to Jane and," Loki paused, dramatically, his grin sharp like the crack of a whip, "to help reunite her with Thor."

"...Say _what_ now?"

Loki blinked, but complied to her strange request. "What?"

Surprisingly, Lady Darcy began to laugh; not the soft, tittering giggles he was used to hearing from maidens, but a warm, full belly-laugh. To his dismay, he found that he rather... liked it. "No, wow. Uhm. I forget that you guys are," she made a strange gesture of waving her hand over her head, which clarified _nothing. _"No, but. You're like, the Evil Sorcerer. Why would you help Thor? You hate him."

"I find the term 'evil' somewhat limiting," he said. "And without my aid, I am afraid that their marriage is doomed to failure."

"Why? Think Thor's gonna mess it up, or some mortal girl ain't gonna be able to handle all that godliness, because let me tell you, they're doing _great_."

Loki smirked. "No, not at all. I was merely referring to Thor's impending marriage to Lady Sif."

"Say _what_ now?"

"What?" Loki growled, annoyed, but Lady Darcy didn't laugh.

* * *

"What are you doing?" He frowned, watching as she waded through the discarded blankets strewn across the floor and into an adjoining room.

"I'm getting an icepack," came the disembodied voice. "If you hadn't noticed, my face is... Eh. Yeah." She reappeared carrying a strange plastic bag filled with a bright blue liquid; Loki vaguely wondered what strange sort of highly toxic chemical their science had concocted for this purpose. "Well, you said you weren't gonna kill me, so," she shrugged, sitting down on the sofa, apparently unbothered by the chaos surrounding her. And the still-rather-villainous ex-villain in her living room.

Loki had surreptitiously checked her pupils, and she didn't appear to be suffering from a concussion. That Thor's beloved was best friends with an insane woman was either a testament to her strength of character or an inditement of her own mental stability.

Watching Lady Darcy fuss with the coverlets, he felt a pang of annoyance. "Do I not frighten you?"

"Of course you do," she answered simply, as if he were a fool. She wasn't lying. "You tried to take over the Earth, bitchslapped the Avengers, attempted genocide and killed a whole bunch of people. I'd have to be pretty stupid to _not_ be scared."

True, all of it (apart from 'bitchslap'; he was unfamiliar with that turn of phrase). Perhaps she wasn't so foolish, or insane. He attempted to catch her gaze, but she was staring at a spot on the floor with an interest so intense it couldn't possibly be genuine.

"So... Thor's getting married? To a woman who _isn't_ Jane?" she asked, teeth worrying her full lower lip. "And you had nothing to do with this?"

"Yes, I habitually force people into marriages they want no part of," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Odin thought it a suitable union."

For some reason, this enraged her. "Wait-" Lady Darcy pushed her hair back out of her face, expression incredulous. "Thor _agreed_ to this?"

Loki nodded. "He cannot go against Odin in this," he crossed his arms behind his back. "Which is where I come in."

"So you're playing cupid?" she snorted.

"Sorry?"

"No, I mean- nevermind," Loki raised an eyebrow at her amused expression, but she changed the subject. "Let me get this straight: you're helping a guy you hate get married to the woman he loves, out of what? The kindness of your heart?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "My motives are of no import."

"I love Jane, and I love Thor," she said. Her eyes swept over him, from his thick boots to his slicked back hair. With a strange surge of pleasure, he realised that she was assessing him - appraising him. "So... I guess. If you're telling the truth, then..." she trailed off, staring at her hands in her lap. "I'm in."

Startled, and at a momentary loss for words, Loki cocked his head. Eyes narrowed, he sucked in a breath. "...Beg your pardon?"

"This whole saving Thor thing. I'm in."

Stepping forward so that they were separated by only a small table, Loki smirked. He leaned forwards, using his height to loom over her. "You mean to say that you wish to aid the God of Mischief in his plans?"

Lady Darcy looked up at him, suddenly not so sure of herself. "Yeah. I guess... I guess I do."

"And you realise that this will be binding," his plans were falling together so perfectly, pieces clinking into place with nary a snare despite this girl's mercurial nature; Loki realised with a start that, yes, he could really, really do this. He could get _away with this_.

Her eyes widened comically. "Binding?"

Loki's answering grin was catlike.

* * *

In the lab, Jane ran over the numbers for the eighth time that night. She had been right; this was the last clue, the last, integral part of the formula that they needed - that _she_ needed - to open up the path between the worlds. The path that led directly to _him_, and whatever it was that dared think that it could keep him from her.

* * *

On the other side of the universe, Thor stood, gazing out of his window, out at the sprawling grounds of the palace, the villages, the ocean - out at the stars, wishing he knew which was the one mortals called the Sun.

* * *

Of late, Sif had been particularly ruthless in her sparring sessions. The healers complained of the increased workload, though never within earshot. The Lady had a very nasty temper.

* * *

Darcy, for her part, was wondering when her life had become like something out of a TV show or a novel but, y'know, without the cool bits. She was talking to a God in her pyjamas - her tank top and short shorts pyjamas that were only supposed to be seen by friends of the female variety - with a mashed up face, a messy apartment and, oh yea, he was a _God_.

And he kept looking at her like she was a particularly interesting bug under a microscope, and she guessed she was. (The bug part; the interesting part she'd take as a compliment. It soothed her poor bruised ego.)

He was staring at her again, all sharp lines and predatory intent and, damnit, were all Asgardians so painfully good looking? Or was it a royalty thing? Was she going to hell for getting turned on by a quite possibly psychotic wizard?

"You would have my word that I would not harm you, nor your friend," he said. Like that was going to make her feel any better about this.

She said as much. "How's your word supposed to make me feel safe that you won't just turn around and zap me?"

Loki glared at her, poison green eyes flashing. "I have done many things, but I would never break an oath."

Huh, so oaths meant different things on Asgard? She supposed it made sense, in a warrior society that praised honour, valour and bravery before all else. (No wonder Loki had - literally - gone off the deep end. Her inner political scientist was all over this shit.) "So I have your word, then, Mister?" Darcy hated how small her voice sounded.

When she thought she was going to die, well, everything had seemed different. She had held on to the faint hope that she could tase him (like she had done to his mortal'd brother, but that might as well have been a lifetime ago, now). Bravado. Keeping up appearances. It didn't hurt that she was already angry, already upset, depressed, hormonal and ready to choke a bitch; Loki couldn't have popped in at a worse time. Speaking of which...

"You need to learn to knock, dude," she said, temporarily removing the icepack and its blessed chilliness from her face. "We do things differently here, and if this, whatever this is, is going to work... Manners. You'll need them."

He stopped doing what he was doing (which was going through her embarassingly extensive DVD collection) and gave her a funny look. "I will endeavour to do so in future, Lady Darcy."

She smiled, and he gave her a smaller one by way of response before going back to his snooping. Heh. She'd been totally right. _Creeper._

"What time will Lady Jane return?"

"...Why?"

He smirked enigmatically. "I wish to speak to her, but her laboratory is under heavy surveillance and I have no desire for a reunion with S.H.I.E.L.D.. Though I'm sure Fury has missed me _terribly_."

"Ah, so that's why you're still here," he looked at her quizzically. "I was wondering why you hadn't teleported back to your evil lair by now."

"Indeed," he said. When he moved, and the light caught him at an angle that was just so... He almost looked like he'd had his nose broken. Weird. "Tell me about Lady Jane; I've heard of her from Thor, but if this plan is going to work, then I'll need to know if she's capable."

"Capable?"

Loki laughed, and it was more than a touch mocking. "You didn't think this would be easy, did you?"

No, Darcy thought, she didn't. Not considering the way the universe was pretty much out to get her. "I won't tell you anything that you could use to hurt her. I don't trust you."

"I don't expect you to."

"Good," she said, and squared her shoulders. With a prayer to whoever was listening, she started to tell him what he needed to know.


	3. in which there is cowardice

A/N: Thanks to all those who read and reviewed :) You people are awesome. And thanks times a billion-ty to **mskaityw** who agreed to beta this for me :3 (And has beta'd this chapter :D) Much love to you all~

Sorry for the delay between chapters - I was ill, and couldn't find the will to get out of bed and write :c But updates should be (god willing) much more regular and timely from now on :D

Reviews are love ^^

* * *

**Chapter Three**: _in which there is cowardice_

* * *

It was morning. Sunlight came streaming in through the open curtains, filling the small bedroom with bright morning light. Birds were singing, and, in the distance, there was the faint buzz of car motors.

Darcy swore violently and pulled her covers up over her head.

Hopefully, if she ignored it for long enough, morning would _go away_ and _leave her alone_.

It hadn't worked in the face of Norse gods, but hope springs eternal.

Though, when she thought about it, both gods and morning were equally detrimental to her sleep. And general well-being.

_Loki had eventually sat down, sprawling in their ratty armchair like it was a throne. Evil he might have been, but she had to admit that the guy had some serious presence - it took a special kind of poise to be able to sit like (for lack of a better word) a whore, and still look preternaturally elegant. Damn him._

_"Lady Darcy?"_

_"Sorry?" she said, momentarily distracted by his splayed legs and general air of nonchalance._

_He rolled his eyes. "You were telling me about... _poker_?" He said it as if it was a dirty word or some sort of unpleasant virus that caused projectile vomiting._

_"Oh, right. Well. You see, the thing is, Jane is really, really bad at it," Darcy sighed. "It's those big, cute brown eyes."_

_Loki's brow creased, and he narrowed his eyes. "And you find this relevant, because...?"_

_"Well, poker's all about being able to bluff," she had explained. This whole situation was getting more and more surreal. The dude was supposed to be the God of Lies and he didn't even know about poker? "Y'know, being able to lie convincingly, so people think you have better cards than you do."_

_"I see," he said. "So, in essence, Lady Jane is terrible at lying."_

_"Exactly," Darcy said, with a smile. He was getting it!_

_"...Then why did you not just mention that in the first place and be done with it?"_

She grimaced at the memory, burying her head underneath her pillow. Darcy really hadn't been at her best last night. And, truth be told, her _best _wasn't all that great, but why did she always have to make herself sound like such a fucking ditz? Was there a sign above her head with a giant arrow pointing down spelling out the word 'idiot' in giant neon letters?

Still, Loki had been oddly polite for an evil (or amoral) alien sorcerer, especially considering the fact that he was dealing with a crazy half-naked _mortal_, who'd poked him and tried to _taser_ him (not her finest moment), dressed only in her PJs. Her old, skimpy PJs.

_Heh. Maybe that's why he was so polite?_ she thought, but dismissed it with a snort. No, with hair like that, she was pretty sure he was gay.

He'd left an hour or so before daybreak, for which she was extremely thankful. No matter what he'd promised her, he was terrifying, intense and predatory in equal measure. She didn't _want_ to trust him, and she'd told him nothing that he wouldn't have been able to find out from Thor or a couple of minutes in Jane's presence, but... But, if he was telling the truth, and Odin was up there in Asgard making a mess of things, then Loki was right: he was the only one who could put things to rights.

And the look on his face when she'd suggested he'd break a promise... He'd looked like he was about to rip her spine out through her throat with nothing but the force of his fury. He'd looked unstable. And, if she hadn't been looking for it and hadn't heard the stories from Jane, from Thor, she never would of seen it, but Loki had looked... insulted. _Hurt_.

If she was honest, that was even scarier than when she'd woken up from a dead faint to find Loki towering above her wearing at least thirty pounds of leather and metal (maybe it was a fetish; the other Asgardian's she'd met didn't dress like that - couldn't have been comfortable). Darcy knew what to expect from him when he snarled and sniped at her; what she couldn't deal with was when he was... Well, vulnerable.

Sighing, and feeling highly strung, Darcy tossed off the covers, resigned to her sleepless fate.

Really, she needed another few hours, both to recover and to steel herself for the day ahead: for Jane's inevitable phone call, which would lead to Darcy going running to the lab, straight to Jane's side (she was powerless against those pleading puppy eyes and the promise of free coffee - _powerless_) and then... Then...

And then she'd have to tell her best friend that Thor was a month and a half away from getting hitched to some smokin' warrior Goddess.

"_It will sound better coming from someone she trusts," Loki had said, and Darcy totally agreed with him, except she was almost a hundred percent sure he was getting her to do it because he was douche and didn't want to have to deal with a hysterical, crying woman._

_She told him as much, distinctly unimpressed._

_He just smirked. The bastard._

_"Ugh. Men."_

Darcy leaned over and grabbed her glasses off the bedside table, slipping them on and rolling inelegantly off the bed. Grumbling under her breath about gods, work, Jane and life, she padded towards the bathroom.

It was gonna be a _loooong_ day.

* * *

"My son," came a voice from behind him, and Loki froze mid-step, unable to move forward, unable to bring himself to turn around.

It had been some time since he had last had dealings with the King, more time still since he had been alone in his company. This was not coincidence, and Odin, for his part, had seemed content with that state of affairs. Mutual avoidance. Why would he seek out the company of the Trickster, after all, unless he had a dirty deed that could only be completed by sullied, crafty hands? (Or to accuse him of things he was seldom involved with?)

"All Father," he acknowledged, the barest of edges in his voice.

"What mischief are you up to this time, Loki?"

Ah. That explained this impromptu meeting. "Nothing that should concern you, my king."

"So you are up to something, then," Odin said. "Have you forgotten the conditions of your freedom so soon?"

"Of course not," Loki did turn then, masks firmly in place. He was the picture of polite indifference. "Nor do I plan on breeching those terms."

Odin's one eye was narrowed, and he searched Loki's face. "I do not believe you."

"Few do."

"_Loki,_" the All Father sighed. "You cloaked yourself from our sight. What tricks do you play? Did you go to Midgard, to plot more revenge against that innocent realm? To seek out the mortal with whom Thor fancies himself in love?"

"No," he said simply. Odin was getting dangerously close to the truth. "Though, I _was_ on Midgard, and I did visit with a mortal, though she was most assuredly _not_ Lady Jane Foster," Loki smirked, sudden and sharp. He let the insinuation hang. "As I said, nothing that should concern you. I cloaked myself for your benefit as much as mine." _Though it was more for mine, admittedly,_ Loki thought.

The All Father's jaw tightened. To think that the other prince would fall sway to a mortal's charms, even if they were not the heir to the throne (or particularly beloved), must have stung. "You lie."

"Sometimes."

"_Loki_," he intoned. "I do not trust you. And if indeed you are carrying out a," he paused, "_dalliance_ with a mortal, then you will maintain some level of discretion."

Loki's smirk turned into a grin. "I intend to." _You utter fool._

Nodding at the All Father, Loki made to continue along the corridor, but Odin held up a hand to stop him. "This is a troubling time, Loki," he said gravely. "And we must all play our parts."

_Yes, we must, mustn't we?_ Loki thought. He raised an eyebrow, as if somehow surprised, or interested, by the All Father's rather overdramatic non-sequitur. After millennia, Loki was rather well versed in this dance they shared: of talking in riddles, where the meaning lay in the gaps between words, crease of Odin's brow and the quirk of Loki's lips. "Of course, All Father."

"You know why I have chosen this union."

It wasn't a question, but Loki knew Odin expected an answer nonetheless. "Yes."

Loki was rapidly growing bored of this already tedious conversation.

"And you will not interfere in this."

"I had not planned to," Loki said, which was entirely true. He _hadn't_ planned to.

(Not until he'd known the details of the marriage, that is.)

"And now?"

Ah, that Odin still thought he could trap Loki with _words_ was hilarious; it would be easier to catch the wind with your bare hands. (Time was supposed to be a teacher, but judging by the regular failings of her Asgardian students, she was a poor one. Which, for a race of near-immortal beings, was just _sad_.)

"You believe that I would help _Thor_?" he asked, incredulous, real frustration slipping through the masks. "For no personal gain, no _thanks_- and to be executed for treason at the end of it? You claim to know me, All Father. Does that sound like _Loki_ to you?"

Odin considered this, but seemed resigned: to admit that Loki was altruistic, in any regard, even if his method were mischief, would cost him too much. Pride and vanity were sins they both shared. "I do not understand all of your ways or motives, Trickster. You have done stranger things in the face of punishment."

"I do not want to die," Loki pointed out, an obvious truth. It was a weakness: an admission of fear.

While his expression did not change, something in Odin's eye softened. "Then do not put me into a position where I would have to kill you, my son."

"I shall endeavour to keep myself out of trouble." _Whether or not I will be successful remains to be seen._

After travelling the hidden pathways with very little sleep and less food, Loki was starting to feel exhaustion creep up on him; he did not have the will to stand in the corridor and be lectured by the old man, for all he believed he was doing the right thing. The Midgardians had another saying, didn't they? _The road to Hell is paved with good intentions._ Remarkably astute for such an unremarkable race.

Loki could feel the beginnings of a headache forming as Odin dismissed him (finally - the All Father's parting speech had been needlessly verbose and rather heavy on the threats, as if threatening Loki had ever done any good). Hopefully he would be able to get a few hours of sleep, perhaps some food, before he would be called upon again; using even comparatively paltry amounts of magic left him feeling run down and ill. Until the bindings were lifted... Well, there was nothing Loki could do but seethe in silence, and rest.

* * *

Darcy's phone started to ring just as she was working her way through her second cup of coffee of the day. (The first coffee turned her from a coma patient into a drooling undead; the second made her start to resemble a member of the human race, if only in body shape. She'd probably be completely sentient after her third. Or fourth.) She put the coffee mug down on the table lovingly, stroking the still-warm handle idly as she flipped open her mobile.

"Hi, Jane," Darcy mumbled, because Jane was the only person insane enough to call Darcy in the morning. (Except Tony Stark that one time, and he hasn't dared do it since. Smart man.) "How's things?"

"I really think I've got it this time, Darce!" Jane's voice sounded so damn happy despite the poor quality and the constant buzz of background static. Darcy felt buoyed in response. "If the next batch of tests give the same results, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s giving us the all clear for some _real_ test runs."

"Wow! Space, here we come!"

Jane giggled. "I know. It's amazing," she sighed. "They said Tony Stark might even come down to take a look at this. It would make sense, considering how much tech he's given to us."

"_Awesome_," Darcy grinned, even if no one was there to see it. Tony Stark may have been an asshole, but he was a funny asshole, and, hey, Darcy liked a man with snark. And his own billion-dollar empire. Though it was mostly the snark. (Only not really.)

"I _know!_"

"What time do you need me down there?"

"As soon as possible, really," Jane replied. There was a shuffling noise in the background that sounded suspiciously like a stack of paper being knocked over. "Oh no..."

_Scientists_, Darcy thought, rolling her eyes fondly. "I'll be down there in half an hour, tops."

"Thanks, Darcy," Jane said, and Darcy could picture the relieved look on her friend's face, even as she heard her struggling with what could only be a colossal stack of notes.

The call ended, and Darcy was left staring at her empty coffee mug, realising that she was about to rain all over Jane's parade. _Oh, welcome back, nerves. I haven't missed you._

* * *

Despite the fact that Jane hadn't brushed her hair or showered, she still looked beautiful as she tapped away at her keyboard, face illuminated by the glow of her monitor screen. As Darcy had expected, there was a pile of notes to the left of her on the desk, disorganised and rumpled, and she wondered again why the astrophysicist resisted fully computerising all of her research so vehemently. It would've made Darcy's job a helluva lot easier (though, that wasn't why she was working here, was it?).

"Hey," she called out, dropping her bag on one of the available surfaces. "Have you eaten yet?"

Jane smiled at her sheepishly and brushed some hair from her face. "Er, not exactly."

"_Jane_."

"This is too important!"

Darcy huffed and reached into her handbag, pulling out a cellophane wrapped cheese sandwich. "Here," she said, putting it down on the desk next to Jane. "Now you have no excuse."

The scientist shot her a grateful look, and Darcy hovered nearby, wringing her hands. She willed herself not to chicken out, because- Because Jane deserved to know. After all she'd done for Darcy, she deserved honesty, and she _deserved_ to have a best friend who wasn't a complete and utter coward.

"Loki came to visit last night," she blurted, and, crap, she really, really needed to learn how to self-censor.

There was a pregnant pause.

"..._What_?"

That seemed to be the standard response when confronted with Darcy.

"He just showed up, right after you left," Darcy winced. That sounded bad. Jane stared at her like she'd just grown another head, and she felt like she probably wasn't explaining herself very well, so she clarified: "He said- I mean. He didn't hurt me. And he promised he won't, like, hurt me in future. Or kill me. Or you. Or either of us, really, which I thought was pretty awesome, because, _hey_, vengeful gods aren't well-known for, uh, not hurting people."

"Wait- _Vengeful_? You mean Loki's here? On Earth? Oh my god!"

Darcy frowned. "Well, no. He said he was going back to Asgard after, ah-"

"You _talked_ to him?"

"He was being-" Nice? Hardly. Loki was all too-sharp smiles and haughty derision, swanning about their tiny apartment like someone who'd escaped a Lord of the Rings convention (and still, somehow, managing to look badass while doing it). He was... Polite? At times. Though her first impression of him (laughing at her freezing, soaking wet misery) were right up there in the Worst Moments of Darcy's Life; right behind the time she'd been dared to eat a glow-stick at a club and ended up vomiting all over her boyfriend right in the middle of the dance floor (he never did get the fluorescent green out of that shirt).

Darcy wasn't the kind of girl that embarrassed easily, but swooning like a Victorian heroine in her PJs? Bad. Doing so in front of a guy who could literally magic her into an ant and step on her? _Very bad_. Mucho badness. Not the kind of message she wanted to send out. She was a strong, independent woman who held her own and didn't take shit from anyone - not even sexy super-villains with bitching cheekbones.

God, what must he think of her?

Well, he was a _god_. He probably _didn't_ think of her as anything beyond pathetic mortal with a propensity to hurt herself in ridiculous (and possibly amusing) ways.

"...Darcy? Are you okay?"

She blinked, not realising that she'd zoned out. "Yeah, I'm fine. Was just thinking about how awesome I'd look in period costume. Y'know, full Jane Austen - don't make a Mr. Darcy joke or I'll have to hurt you Jane, and I love you, so I don't want to have to do that."

Jane looked caught somewhere between confusion and worry (and laughing). It wasn't a good look, even on her. "Are you sure he didn't do anything to you, Darcy?"

"Yes," she said, without hesitation. Darcy was pretty sure she would know if someone had been tinkering around in her head. "This is all me."

"Doesn't surprise me," the petite brunette muttered, running a hand over her face and managing, somehow, to look even more exhausted. "What did he have to say for himself, then?"

"You're... you're not mad?"

"No!" Jane squeaked, surprised. "Why would I be? Should I be? You said he didn't do anything, Darcy-"

"Nononono! I just. I mean. It's _Loki_."

"Oh," Jane said. "Well, yes, there's that. But, I trust Thor, and Thor trusts his brother. And Thor's told me... A lot. So while I'm still not sure what I think of Loki..."

"You don't think he's got anything to do with Thor, uhm, not being here."

"I don't know what I think, Darcy," she said, and Darcy wrapped her arms around her friend, resting her head on Jane's shoulder. "Did he say anything?"

"Uhm."

"Did Loki say _anything_, Darcy? About Thor? The Bifrost?" Jane looked so hopeful, her eyes wide and open and beautiful, because she was always beautiful in that innocent, childlike way and Darcy- Darcy-

Darcy opened her mouth to tell her that, yes, he'd said something really fucking important, but the words stuck in her throat, and she felt like she was choking on nerves and sympathy and fear and- And she _couldn't_. "No, Jane, he- he didn't."

"Then why- oh god, we should call S.H.I.E.L.D., Darcy, if he wasn't here about- about that-"

"No Jane, don't worry, he just wanted to know how to, uhm, use a computer. And stuff. I guess Thor told Loki about how pro I am with the internet. Like a ninja. Y'know, 'cause our weak Earthly technology was a little too much for his godliness, what with all of its buttons and traumatising memes. _And_ he couldn't be bothered to read the manual," Darcy smiled, feeling her nerves abate and then redouble out of the sheer wrongness of what she was having to do. Trust her conscience to sneak up on her when it was already too late. Damnit. "Typical guy."

Jane looked incredulous, but it startled a laugh out of her. "Really?"

"Really. Nothing to worry about," Darcy lied, and released the astrophysicist from the hug with a gentle pat on the back.

She was the shittiest friend ever.


End file.
